


Movie Night

by Robotamputee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8x22, Episode: s08e22 Clip Show, Gen, SO ~SCANDALOUS, Season gr8, Season/Series 08, dean has a dirty mouth I never knew, it's really G-rated save for ONE SINGLE F-BOMB OH GOD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robotamputee/pseuds/Robotamputee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas wants popcorn. Dean wants to be angry. Sam wants to help them both. Then they watch a movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Movie Night

**Author's Note:**

> Fic inspired by [this gifset](http://besthunters.tumblr.com/post/50002984827), meaning much thanks to its lovely creator, besthunters. 
> 
> Also, y'know, thanks to SPN for giving us Cas eating Jiffy Pop. That was awesome.

The lights are low, the bunker’s central heating cranked and slowly bringing the previously drafty study up to room temperature. It’s an altogether pleasant atmosphere as the brothers and Cas settle around the projector to watch Father Simon’s recording.

Cas shuffles slightly, then clears his throat. Dean tenses, but Sam is busy preparing the projector and doesn’t notice.

“I’ve heard that, when watching a film, it’s customary in most Western cultures to consume certain edibles.”

A sigh, much too quick to be anything other than reflexive at this point.

“What’re you saying, Cas?”

Cas muses, then looks squarely at Dean. “I think we need to make some popcorn before we can view this reel.”

The radiator ticks amusement from the corner. The men are quiet, at first, then loud, all at once:

“We’re not making  _popcorn_ —”

“—get Dean to go—”

“—watch a _glorified snuff film_.”

The brothers share a look. Their eyes wage brief battle, but the winner is clear. Dean tallies his losses, tends to the wounded, then stands, his impatience not so much heard as understood on a visceral level. Still, he wanders out of the room with little more than a backward glance at the angel.

“Hope you’re okay with stove-top,” he calls, already down the hall and out of sight, “‘cause we ain’t got a microwave.”

A few seconds pass. Cas is examining the inner workings of the Men of Letters’ projector. Sam is itching to explain its function to him, but he resists, fearing Dean’s reaction should he return to find their only WWII-era projector deconstructed because an angel wanted to see how the spools work. 

Across the room, the radiator is really getting into the swing of this whole heating-rooms-up thing. It clangs a bit, testing its limits, then settles.

A minute has passed.

“How are you feeling, Sam?”

Sam considers.

“Not horrible. I won’t be having any of your popcorn, though, that’s for sure.”

Cas turns to Sam, projector temporarily forgotten. “Are you sure? I’ve heard sharing it encourages interpersonal bonding, while the act of eating improves long-term recollection of the film viewed via sense-memory.”

Sam huffs a laugh. He attempts to tamp down the resulting cough, but fails. “I’m sure, Cas. Thanks, though.”

Cas considers, now.

“It’s hard to tell Dean how bad it really is for you, isn’t it.”

It’s not a question. Sam doesn’t answer.

Two minutes have passed. A sound like a whirring propeller floats down the hall.

Cas squints at Sam, who blinks.

“It’s the popcorn, you have to kind of…swivel it.”

Cas nods in acceptance. They drift back into silence.

Sam’s still considering. He watches Cas flip aimlessly through a book left on the table from an earlier study session. He clears his throat.

“Sometimes, when the people Dean cares about are hurting, he doesn’t really know how to show that he’s worried about them except with anger.”

The radiator clunks in agreement, humming slightly now. The room is getting quite warm. After a moment, Cas hums too, still reading.

“But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care,” Sam continues, desperate. “‘Cause he does—a whole lot. He’s trying to understand, and be supportive, but it’s hard for him to let this kind of thing go.”

Cas nods, which Sam takes as a good sign. Nearly three minutes have passed, and the whirring sound down the hall is louder now.

Sam starts to worry. _There's not enough_ time, he thinks; though why exactly he needs it, he doesn't know. 

He tries again. “You know Dean’s trying to understand, right?”

Cas goes all squinty again, and Sam starts to worry more.

“About you, I mean. He wants to forgive you, I know he does. But he’s hurt, and I think he just needs to be angry for a while, you know?”

Cas’s gaze has wandered to the blank screen set up in front of them. His eyes scroll across the canvas as if reading invisible words. Sam hopes they’re giving Cas better advice than he is.

The popcorn sound stops, and as it does the radiator fades out as well, sick of this whole endeavor. The silence rings in Sam’s ears and he squirms, leaning forward in his chair as if to reach out to Cas.

“You are very wise, Sam.” 

Cas is still squinting up at the projector’s screen, his hand splayed across the open book in front of him as if saving his place. Sam chuckles, grudgingly accepting the hearty cough that follows. He feels like he could hack up a lung, and he’s almost tempted to try, except that Dean would probably kill him.

“It’s Dean, Cas, not rocket science,” he says at last, feeling magnanimous in this moment of victory. “Live with him long enough and you’ll learn to speak his language too.”

The hall is silent. Sam is watching Cas carefully, but somehow he still misses the exact moment when the angel’s confusion gives way to what can only be described as fondness.

“It seems to contain primarily expletives and requests for baked goods, from what I’ve gathered.”

Cas’s face remains utterly impassive, his voice that old familiar baritone, and that only serves to make Sam crack up even more. When Dean walks in a moment later, Jiffy Pop in hand, it’s to see his brother leaning back in his chair, wrist to his lips to stem the coughing and the laughter, his other hand reaching out to steady himself against the table. Cas looks pleased, like everything is going according to plan.

Dean blinks, perturbed. “You okay?”

Sam’s laughter passes. The coughs continue for a bit, but they, too, eventually subside. He watches as Dean sets the Jiffy Pop in front of Cas, aiming for dismissive, but Sam can tell the pan’s been swiveled to perfection and isn't fooled.

He shrugs. “Just something Cas said.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow. “You wanna share with the class?”

Sam looks at Cas. Cas looks back, pops a kernel in his mouth, ruminates on it for a bit, and swallows.

Sam turns back to Dean and grins. “Nope.”

Dean sighs the sigh of the eternally beleaguered, then sits down across from Cas at the table.

“Just start the fuckin’ movie already,” he says. In the corner, the radiator pings one final time, clearly in complete agreement. Dean glances at it, shakes his head, then swipes the fallen popcorn from around Cas’s pan, flicking some at Sam before tossing the rest in his mouth.

Sam can barely hold back his laughter as he feeds the film through the projector, but he manages. The lights are low, the temperature perfect, and Cas’s popcorn fills the room with a delicious buttery smell. All-in-all, it’s the perfect atmosphere for a movie night.

The film in place, Sam settles down to watch, wondering how hard it would be to find the Star Wars movies on a film reel. Or Superman. 

_Cas can probably work something out,_ he thinks. He smiles.

_He always does, in the end._

And he knows it to be true.


End file.
